dom!lagertha x female reader nsfw. Reader is Aslaug's sister and also a warrior
“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” with Lagertha, pls?
Sy notes: This isn’t really nsfw, but I had gone into it with the intention of it being. I’ll try and make another with dom!Lagertha at some point.
Cool crystal water sluiced through your fingertips as you stood cleaning yourself of the blood clogged through your long curls. You work out the blood with a bar of honey soap, strings of diluted pink water caressing your shoulders. The water is so crystal and clear, Lagertha could make out your curves. This is the allure that Arne felt for your sister once upon a time. She understands it now. You bring a great pitcher of water on top of your head. She was never the type of woman to hide in the bushes but… where there was a need.
“Are you spying on Aslaug’s sister?”
Lagertha’s hand shoots out, burrowing in Ragnars’s soft black tunic. She jerks him down onto the dusty ground under her feet. You turn, scanning the line of full trees and scratchy bushes for an onlooker where there was none. With a final sway over the landscape, Lagertha assumes that you decide that there is nothing to become concerned over.
“She can hear you.” She bites out.
“Well, Earl Ingstad, why is this a secret?” Ragnar shifts to balance on the balls of his feet. He slaps his hands onto his knees, his braid flung over his broad shoulder lackadaisically. It was terribly fascinating to him that a woman like Lagertha– Lagertha, no other name needed to be attached to it, was rutting around in bushes like Arne.
“You know why, Ragnar.” Lagertha shifts the foliage shielding her view. Though when she shifts them, she sees no running water over smooth tattooed shoulders. Only legs that are silky soft to the touch.
“Lagertha?” Your voice runs subdued though she knows better than that. Your lovely, well-groomed mound sits between two tightly closed legs. Lagertha lets out a muttered curse before she lifts, mulling your call with a bittersweet smile. Were you a man, it might have worked.
“Why were you in the bushes?” You ask in a low tone. Then your eyes settle up the other earl and you jump, shielding your mound with one hand and wrapping your arm around your breasts with the other.
“Ragnar!” You shrill, catching his ear with the screech. Ragnar hops up, his hands folding over one another.
“(Y/N).” He fails to avert his eyes, rolling his lower lip into his mouth. “You fought well.”
“For a shieldmaiden?” You say.
Ragnar’s face falls flat. He naturally did not wear a ton of emotion and still, he was blank as if caught and reliving the moment between Athelstan and him. He slowly nods as he looks back to Lagertha.
“I caught him watching you.” Lagertha clears her throat. “If Aslaug knew, I’m sure she wouldn’t approve of you watching her sister. Would she, Ragnar?”
He gapes, turning his head to his ex-wife. His wide blue eyes give a short few blinks before he would turn back toward her. His arms hold together.
“Nope.” He says, waving on his feet only a second. He looks toward the horse that is tied up and kept apart, starting towards it. Your eyes follow your brother in laws steps as he offers no such apology. Probably because he did nothing wrong.
“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to,” Lagertha says almost fondly.
“I don’t need anyone to pick my battles.” You say, turning back toward her and shifting your hair like straps of leather from your face. “Because then you would have to kick your own.”
She lacks your humor as her features soften. Caught in her affections she affords you a small smile at the corners of her lips. You look back toward your clothes, then back to her, fluttering your lashes. You knew that it was her this whole time.
“I’m not married, Lagertha.” You say. “Of course, that could be changed.”
You both know that it’s a formality. You could never really marry her. That wasn’t to mean that you couldn’t be marked out as hers. You look down as Lagertha lacks her words, fiddling a pendant between your fingertips. Then, stretching out, you take her wrist to tie the pendant around her wrist.
“Think of me.” You say, pulling the pendant tight. With nothing more, you move to dress and gather your things. Her eyes drop to her wrist, finding a beautiful pendant of Thor swaying where you once touched her. Thor… she thinks. A god of fertility. A god of prowess.
❛ request | Sy, get this: ubbe with a plump or chubby short little wife who he spoils like crazy and adores and she keeps his home and farm and keeps his crazy little wolf pups at bay. I keep rewatching ubbe and Bjorn and Ivar and hvitty scenes from the last few episodes and had this thought (cause I’m over the war between brothers, gov my boys wives and babies and let them relax please lol) + Could you do ubbe like just super day to day tasks with domestic ubbe? Maybe one of the kids needs some extra attention or something? Love you
“Aaluf, bring in the clothes.”
The glowing sun began to set on an otherwise dismal day. The days had been dreary and cold. The days were shorter than you would have liked for the farm. In Ubbe’s absence, you carry on your normal business taking care of the land left behind by your husband, shooing the livestock into the barn for the cold frost.
It was a hard life but it would be a good life. This was after all Ubbe’s dream. If it was his dream to do just as his father had always wanted; you would uphold that. Both a good thing and a bad thing, as after all Ubbe was constantly facing the need of King Alfred and opposition from home.
“Móðir , Sigurd is in the skyr!”
Gods help you. Even your clothes had bits of hay from feeding your milk cows.
“Mind the clothes Asa.” You set down freshly laundered clothes and go to where the stored skyr was. As predicted your little flaxen prince had fingers full of the sticky dairy. Your hands become fists on the bend of your waist.
“Sigurd.” You sweep the young boy out of the vat, setting him upon the ground. “I’ll get you sour milk instead.”
“Princess (Y/N), the cows are out! Did you not lock the barn doors?”
Your heart drops as you look out to two of your thralls. From the look on your face, the male thrall already knows that you had not. He darts down the entryway, having brought in wood for the hearth that you should have been in charge of anyway. Cows were not cheap. Not cheap at all. You could have cried but instead, you dart through that door with a word to Aaluf and Askold-- Ubbe’s nephew by Hvitserk-- to watch Sigurd.
“Shut the doors.”
“Yes, dróttinn!” Your male slave pulls the barn doors shut, drawing the wooden plank across the large ashy barn to ensure it would be shut. Turning away from the door, you spot the tight rolls of one of your love’s braids. Torvi secured the bottom latches of the door shut. You huff, breath catching heavy on your lungs.
“Torvi.” You step slowly. Torvi turns to walk up to you, grasping your soft hands in her slender ones. She leans in and sets a soft kiss upon your lips.
“I am glad you are well.” She says. It’s as good as an “I missed you” as you would get with the shieldmaiden. You lean into her kiss, reaching around her neck with to wind your arms around her neck. It’s always something of a feat. She’s so tall-- you’re so little! She lifts you off the ground, loosely spinning you once and then twice before setting you back down. You shift your dress over your round curves again.
“And Ubbe?”
“Fetching his father’s goats.” She says. Oh, his goats.
You never would have forgiven yourself if you lost Ragnar’s sheep. Your cheeks warm, nodding in agreement to her words. Moments later your husband surfaces around the side of the barn, a lamb tucked under his arm. Your thrall jots beside him, bringing the sheep into the barn for the evening.
“I hope the children were better behaved than the sheep,” Ubbe says. You run your hands over the side of your plump figure, weaving with a small smile. Fadir is home! Modir too! The children bellow from inside. Even Asa has lit up into squeals.
“It doesn’t seem like it.” Torvi makes note of your babies squealing for their father. He walks forward and cradles your cheek in her hand, leaning down to your level in order to kiss you. You tippy toe to meet his lips, cracked with the taste of the sea. You meet his warm kisses with your own, giggling half way through when Ubbe’s hand leaves your cheek in order to squish your round ass between his fingers.
“Stop it!” You laugh, slapping his knuckles off of your ass.
“Let’s go in,” Ubbe says. “You’ve kept my children for me?”
“Of course. Our children.” You say pointedly. Your job in the home was very defined. While Torvi and Ubbe were out raiding, supporting kings, you would take care of his estate and the children upon it. Nor just yours, but Torvi’s too.
“Fadir!” The children tumble out of the door, howling like the little wolves that Ubbe was named after. You rip away from your husband, lacing your hand with his free one. Torvi takes your other, giving them that look-- the one that meant they better get their sorry asses back inside. Aaluf, your thrall comes in behind your husband, wife and you. Asa stands up with her hands heavy with plump little Sigurd.
“We’re going! We’re going!” She dips back inside, the lamb bleats under Ubbe’s arm. Sigurd’s little hands are opening and closing, delightfully excited for the lamb that he loved to pet and sleep on. It was his father’s lamb’s grandchild-- tiny and cute.
